Another Boring Love Story
by jj469
Summary: A Gryffindor reflects on past times with an old flame. One-shot.


I knew from the start my heart would be broken. She told me that from the beginning. She told me she was leaving. I knew that when I met her, though. She told me there would be no "happily ever after." I knew from the beginning that believing in such was silly. It would end faster than it started, she kept saying. I already knew that, too. All the pain I feel now, I was warned about from the start. What did I do?  
  
Leaped in headfirst.  
  
Damn Gryffindors. Where did that damn hat get off putting me in Gryffindor, anyway? Life would have been far more fulfilling as a Slytherin. No. Not fulfilling. Easier. It's far more enticing to be sneaky and evil than a head-strong idiot.  
  
This... relationship, if I can even call it that... would have gone a lot smoother if I was a Slytherin. Hell, my entire life would've been smoother. My first year, I may still have gotten into that same shit, but the Slytherins might have prevented it from going as far as it did. No, I know they would've stopped it before it started.  
  
But I'm not one to bitch about the past. I just like to remember. Remember how life was genuinely beautiful to me for the first time.  
  
It's all her damn fault it stopped. Damn her. And damn me for letting her into my life.  
  
I remember like yesterday the last day I spent with her. The seventh years were graduating soon. Could I control that? No. We were in the Room of Requirement on a blissful Saturday afternoon. The sun was shining through stained-glass windows upon us, like one of the Gods himself was watching over us and saying, "This is the reason we created people, so love and happiness could spread across the world. You two were made to be together."  
  
Was that sappy or what? I disgust myself. Excuse me as I slap myself.  
  
Anyway, where was I? Right, the Room of Requirement. We had just made love. No, not had sex. Made love. If you asked her noow, she would probably say it was just a great fuck. She knows better. So do I. Her hair lain out on the pillows like little chocolate rivers all connecting to her gorgeous visage. Perhaps that's why she tastes so sweet, as if I had been born to feed off her. Sometimes her eyes would sparkle, letting me know her big wall around her heart might be crumbling, letting me think for a second that maybe there would be a "you and me" after everything. Bah.  
  
I laid against her skin. Velvet. I swear. I am addicted. Her skin is just so soft and warm. Laying up against her like that, her skin on mine, that was home for me.  
  
I kissed her neck softly, gently.   
  
"I swear, if you get any gayer, I'll hex you into next millennium," she barked.  
  
Her cold words, I learned over time, were not to be taken seriously. She loved it when I was caring. No one had ever really cared for her in her life. Her harsh words used to be a defense mechanism. They transformed into a symbol of love over time, though.  
  
Gods, doesn't that sound twisted? "I hate you because I love you" type shit. It was just how she expressed herself. After all, she was a Slytherin.  
  
So I was there, being disgustingly romantic, like I feel now writing this damn thing, when she finally lays it on me.  
  
"Just so you know, this is the last time we can be like this. Ever. After we leave, I will spite you and your family. It was great sex, though. If you ever get a name change, find out you were adopted, or you become a big bad evil person in Wizarding society with lots of money, maybe we can go back. But only then," she said, trying to unlock herself from my embrace.  
  
You know that phrase everyone always says? The one that goes "If you love someone, let them go. If they come back to you, they're yours"? Well that's a bunch of dragonshit. Seriously. I'm going to edit it. It will now go: "If you love someone and let them go, you're a bloody idiot who deserves to be thrown in Azkaban because that's exactly how you'll feel with or without the dementors haunting you."  
  
And that was it. She dressed as if she was standing in front of a mirror, right there in front of me. I looked at her lucious thighs as she pulled her lacy black panties up, watched as she put the matching bra over those small, yet delicious breasts, watched her white collared shirt cover her beautifully flat stomach with that scar the size of a owl feather near her belly button. I wanted to cry.  
  
She left without another word, you know. No goodbyes, nothing. What did I do? I followed suit, putting my clothes on, and hid in the Gryffindor Tower.  
  
Since my first year, people make sure that I'm always doing okay. Sure, they are afraid that I'll be possessed by Tom and blast their heads off, but who cares? So the end of my sixth year was terrible. "Ginny, what's wrong?" this and "Ginny, you look upset" that. I hated it. It was one of those moments where I wished that I was possessed by Tom so I could legally send them all to Hell without feeling any remorse or receiving any punishment.  
  
Screw them all, though. They have no idea. They'll never know about me and my broken heart. They'll never know how many tears I've wished to shed over Pansy Parkinson.  
  
And here it is now. I'm 24 and still blubbering about broken hearts and lost chances. I must sound like some sappy romance novel. Draco Malfoy, excuse me, Lord Malfoy is marrying my girl within the next few months, so the American papers say. Who knew Ferret Boy would end up surpassing Tom and his father? I bet Harry is still rolling around in his grave over Malfoy completely revamping the Ministry of Magic and creating his own legal system.   
  
I suppose becoming a Death Eater would have been the proper way to go, seeing as those were the only survivors of the final battle. It's the way Percy went. I knew he traded over before it happened. That power-hungry bastard. But who cares about the final battle? Hell, who cares about Wizarding Britain?  
  
The moral of the story is: Never be sorted into Gryffindor.  
  
Ever. 


End file.
